


Cheap Imitation Midweek Challenge #1

by dairesfanficrefuge_archivist



Category: Highlander - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-31
Updated: 1999-12-31
Packaged: 2018-12-18 06:04:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11868216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist/pseuds/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist
Summary: By Gnu MacWOW, Palladia, Ysanne, sinclair





	Cheap Imitation Midweek Challenge #1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Daire's Fanfic Refuge](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Daire%27s_Fanfic_Refuge). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Daire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dairesfanficrefuge/profile).

 

CIMWC #1

**Cheap Imitation Midweek Challenge #1**

* * *

**The Truly Horrible Very Bad Day by Gnu MacWOW**   
In the Life by Palladia   
Moo by Ysanne   
When Worlds Collide by sinclair 

* * *

**The Truly Horrible Very Bad Day  
by Gnu MacWOW**

My Cheap Imitation Mid-Week Challenge Response using the Immortal of my choice, dry cleaning, potted plant sans Dr. Fifi (grins), a policeman/woman and ice cream. I stole time from work for this and didn't give it any thought...it just wrote itself as I went along for the ride...call it an aMUSEment ride. (Groan) 

*** 

Methos was having a very bad day. It was a truly horrible very bad day! In fact on a scale of one to ten he had determined that this day was a twenty, and it was only eight a.m. 

At six he was awakened from a very pleasant dream by the neighbors behind his house as they had begun jack hammering up their back patio in order to make room for their much-touted new swimming pool. Of course they were excited, he'd groused. They had three obnoxious children and a barking dog, which obviously drove them crazy inside the house, so their nefarious plan was to build their own private water park outside where their noise could then drive Methos crazy. He needed to move. 

At six-fifteen, as he was halfway through shaving, his electric razor died with a puff of blue smoke. After cutting himself with the rather dull razor he found in his travel bag he added disposable razors to the grocery list. 

At six-thirty with the pounding noise of the jackhammer reverberating through the walls of his house, he exited the now cold shower and discovered he was developing a headache. Immortals rarely got headaches, but this one promised to be a whopper. Unfortunately as Immortals rarely get headaches, they also rarely keep any medicines around to treat them. He needed to buy aspirin. 

At seven his phone rang with a call from his assistant at the university who had been scheduled to take over his classes for the remainder of the week while he got away for some desperately needed peace and quiet. Methos had nearly ground his teeth down while she'd sniffled and sneezed her way through an explanation of coming down with a flu bug that felt more like the "plague". He supposed he'd have to send her an apologetic bouquet for his rude outburst about how this generation just didn't understand or appreciate the value of a good plague to wipe out the stupid and useless. Good EA's were simply too hard to come by. Maybe he needed a new occupation. 

At seven-twenty the electricity suddenly went off causing Methos to stub his toe while dressing in his closet. While the good news was the horrendous noise of the jackhammer had stopped, the bad news was that the workmen at the neighbor's had managed to sever an electrical connection or something and the entire block was blacked out. Further escalating the bad news part was that Methos, who had just stocked his fridge the night before, had been forced to the conclusion that he couldn't fit all the perishables into his one ice chest and had had to choose between the case of imported Welsh beer and the pint of the new Ben & Jerry's "Half-Baked" ice cream. Thankfully the icemaker had been full and the beer all fit. Methos added a new, larger cooler to his list. 

By seven-thirty he had managed to drop a bowl of eggs he'd been getting ready to toss on his good pants and had had to change clothes. At seven-thirty-five while trying to salvage something that could be called breakfast and while keeping one eye out the back window to see if the utility company had showed up to inspect the equipment damage next door, he'd knocked over the potted plant on the windowsill, breaking the pot in the process and sending a shower of potting soil and broken leaves cascading down his shirtfront to the floor. Methos made a note: "Replace with artificial" and stuck it to the fridge. 

Shrugging into the last pair of clean pants and dress shirt hanging in his closet at seven-forty he added going past the dry cleaners to his growing list of annoyances. Maybe he needed more than two suits. 

At seven forty-five he threw his dry cleaning into the back seat of the car and headed to the dry cleaners only to find they didn't open for another fifteen minutes. With classes beginning at eight ten he opted, somewhat uneasily, to use the "convenient drop-off" bin in the cleaner's parking lot. He was certain thieves regularly availed themselves of the pickings, but he was running out of time. Maybe he should buy some of those do-it-yourself dry cleaning kits he'd seen advertised. 

Ten minutes to eight and Methos sped toward campus in a rush, grumpy and hungry for his missed breakfast, and only when he was pulled over for speeding did he realize he hadn't pulled his wallet out of the soiled pants and had just dropped it, along with his dry cleaning, into the suspicious collection bin. He hoped he didn't need to cancel all his credit cards. 

He supposed banging his head on the steering wheel hadn't much impressed the policewoman as she wrote his ticket out. In fact it just might have been what led up to the final straw, he rationalized. He supposed acting irrationally angry had only spurred her to punch his name into her computer, bringing up his driving history and the rather alarming number of unpaid parking and speeding tickets. He definitely needed some anger management classes. 

So at eight o'clock with the police computer calling for his immediate arrest, Methos was bundled into the backseat of the police cruiser in handcuffs. Adam Pierson, he'd been informed, was going to need a serious lawyer. Maybe it was time to head to Bora Bora. 

* * *

**In the Life  
by Palladia**

"It's best to take a table near the door. That way, we don't have to fight our way through the ferns, and she can't leave without our knowing." 

Joe Dawson was breaking Jake Chisholm in as a Watcher. Jake's assignment was Edie Simwick, and she was a "working girl." Automatically, Jake broke out his drawing pad and pencils to pick up the scene. The large leaf of a rubber tree plant was brushing against his neck, so he surreptitiously reached back and broke it off at its base. 

"Oh, please, sir, you mustn't harm the plants! They're our very _raison d'etre!_ Why, Fern Gully wouldn't be the same without the plants!" A fey young man approached the table to take their order, and caught Jake in the act of abbreviating the offending leaf. Jake smiled apologetically, and with a few swift strokes of the pencil, etched a caricature of the waiter onto the leaf's broad surface. 

When he handed it to the waiter, he said, "If you stick it in water with some rooting hormones, you   
might be able to get it to start. The pencil marks will scar, and it'll grow along with the leaf." 

The boy looked astonished. Slowly, a smile changed his features from bored to intensely interested. "Cool! It really looks like me! How do you _do_ this?" 

Jake shrugged. Joe had warned him in advance that the fern bar's potations ran to brandy alexanders and sloe gin fizzes, so they both had settled on mineral water. 

Edie herself, in the back with one of her colleagues, wore a micro-mini best described as a wide belt. She wasn't cruising at the moment, but she was clearly headed out to work. It was nearly four P.M., and the offices would be disgorging their people soon. There had been a few nooners, this would be the dinner group, and later in the evening things would pick up again. 

Edie's voice was sharp, and for the sake of her customers' ears, both Joe and Jake hoped that she didn't try to talk with her mouth full. Or empty, for that matter. The only comfort Jake could derive from this assignment _\- assignation, more like it, he thought, dourly -_ was that there ought to be lots of colorful characters to draw, and he might even get a show out of it. 

As it was, they could both clearly hear her and her friend discuss the cost of doing business. "The laundromat went up a quarter on the driers last week. I don't know how they expect us to keep washing towels if they keep raising the rates. And, do you know what it cost me to have this suede skirt cleaned?" 

Considering that there weren't two square feet of leather involved, Jake considered, it ought not to be the twenty bucks she claimed. 

Joe was watching Jake watch Edie. He had great hopes for Jake, with his drawing ability and other skills. He just wondered what would happen if Edie got herself into any problems with a John. Caution as he might, he had no expectation that Jake would stand back and watch Edie absorb a beating, or worse. There was also the possibility of a pimp. 

On the other hand, Edie's voice was like fingernails on a blackboard, she had the motormouth of a meth freak, and was very thin, so probably, all things considered, Jake wouldn't fall in love with her. Also, even with the heels, she would barely come up to his shoulder, and that included the hugely piled-up coiffure of unlikely red hair that must cost her an hour every day. 

Edie had startled a few years off the life of a dumpster-diver when she'd emerged from the trash, bloody but unbowed. It hadn't been easy to climb out of there, even with the five-inch heels for a head start, but she'd managed. She'd even gotten home to clean up, after a ride in the squad car of two cops who couldn't believe she was still alive, given the blood on her clothes. She'd refused their offer of a ride to the ER, and when she arrived, had grandly given them a handful of air as if it were a gigantic tip. The driver had gotten out of the black-and-white, opened the back door for her, and bowed as she exited. A little amusement helped a boring night. 

Since she'd been unconscious when the trick had finished her off, she didn't really know she was Immortal. 

She just thought she was lucky, until Amanda, touring the Strip, had felt her presence one evening, and taken the time to explain the Facts of (extended) Life to her. 

There was absolutely no place she could be concealing a sword in that outfit, unless she'd learned to swallow it, or otherwise internalize it. 

Edie and her friend had a prime corner, so there very probably was a pimp around someplace. There was a _gelato_ vendor, a hot-dog guy, and the Soup Nazi down the street. Lots of places to duck in to get warm in winter, or just evade someone they didn't want to see. Jake could see lots of possibilities here. He could bring an easel and do sketches to sell, keeping Edie in sight while knowing everything that went on. 

When the pimpmobile drove up, the men exchanged glances. It was pale lavender, and had been customized to the max, with a _fleur-de-lis_ cut as a rear window and a padded, channeled top. Judging from its lines, it had started life as a Lincoln, but it was not your father's Continental any more. 

The man who emerged wore fedora with a plume, a fuschia shirt open to the navel and leather pants that matched the car, with enough gold chains to considerably enhance the supply at Fort Knox. He casually draped an arm over the shoulders of each of the girls, pulled them to him, and snapped his fingers for money. They obliged. 

"That's 'Lily.' He comes into the bar sometimes, for the jazz and blues. Big spender. Waitresses love him. He's from Algeria, and he speaks the most beautiful French. Plays sometimes. I've had some real sessions with him. I didn't know he ran girls, though. It makes sense. Money had to come from someplace. Oh, look!" 

Joe nodded slightly toward the _gelato_ vendor. Amanda stood there, buying a cone of the frozen confection. Lily's eyes took in her clothes, her posture, and mostly, the suggestive way she licked the ice. She knew he was watching her, and got really inventive. He couldn't resist. 

Casually, the two Watchers drifted back to lean up against a wall, and observed Lily try to enlist Amanda into the cause of keeping him in flashy cars and Rolexes. He was evidently going into some detail about his sexual prowess when MacLeod arrived, bought his own _gelato,_ took Amanda's hand and tucked it into his elbow so they could stroll down the street. 

"Hey, cherie! You 'member what I said, now. He ain't got what I got. I got a real sword." 

Lily wondered for a long time afterwards why the couple had laughed so hard. 

* * *

**Moo  
by Ysanne**

'Oh, damn,' muttered Duncan MacLeod. 

He blotted his fawn colored cashmere sweater with a paper napkin, but the chocolate, caramel and burnt-sugar vanilla drips had soaked through in an instant. A few more fell even as he blotted, so he decided to concentrate on licking the double scoop of Cows ice cream into submission. 

Actually, the heavenly confection was so full of chocolate chips and tiny Rolo candies that he had to nibble as well as lick. He indulged in a low-pitched hum of bliss, drawing the attention of a fellow passenger on the Wood Islands ferry. 

'Enjoying the ice cream?' asked a small, plump woman with white hair and bright blue eyes. 

'Mmf!' Duncan replied sincerely, wiping his lips. 'Where has it been hiding all my life?' 

He grinned at the woman, who smiled back, gratified to have the attention of such a handsome young man. 

'It's made and sold on Prince Edward Island,' she said proudly, 'not far from my daughter's bed and breakfast. Which tee-shirt did you buy?' 

Crunching the last bit of the handmade waffle cone, Duncan raised his eyebrows. 

'Tee-shirt?' 

'Oh, you must buy a Cows tee-shirt! They sell some right here on the ferry. And you've spotted your sweater, you know. There's Cowy Potter, Hammock Cow, Spider-Cow - so many to choose from. I have one, see?' 

She held her knitted white cardigan open to reveal a pink shirt with a black and white cow lounging atop planet Earth. There was something about wishing for peace printed on it. 

Duncan smiled at her enthusiasm. Maybe it would be a good idea to change at that. The whole idea of vacationing on PEI was to totally relax, wasn't it? How tense could an Immortal wearing a cow tee-shirt be? He excused himself and sought out the little shop. After looking through the merchandise he picked out a red Golf Cow shirt in XXL and changed in the men's room. After stuffing the soiled sweater into his duffle he settled his light duster over the new shirt, joggling his sword into position automatically. He strode into the large room again and sat down across from his new acquaintance. She looked at him expectantly and he opened his coat with a flourish. 

'Wonderful!' she beamed. 'Now, dear, have you a place to stay?' 

'Well, no, I thought I'd just...' 

'Did I mention my daughter has a lovely B&B? Victorian home, antiques, hearty breakfasts. You look like a man who needs a hearty breakfast. I live with her there, you know, and help her do the baking. You should taste my scones, even if I do say so myself.' 

'It sounds very nice,' Duncan agreed, 'but...' 

'And you could just give me that sweater for the dry cleaning. You shouldn't have to worry about things like that on holiday. Do you like a Jacuzzi tub?' 

'Yes, I...' 

'We have a Jacuzzi suite, four-poster bed big enough for a nice, strong man to stretch out it, feather pillows, good books to read, and cream tea at four. Did I mention we're right next to the golf course?' 

When the ferry docked Duncan found himself with a brochure from the B&B in his pocket, another ice cream in hand, and a reservation made for a week's stay. Once Mrs. MacInnis had discovered Duncan's Scottish surname no power on earth could have prevented his fate. 

An hour later he had checked into the admittedly charming B&B and was gently parboiling in the foaming water of the oversized Jacuzzi, surrounded by potted greenery. His dry cleaning was in Mrs. MacInnis' capable hands, his pillows had been fluffed, and a pot of tea sat under a crocheted cozy on the bedside table beside a plate of fresh scones and a vase of purple lupins. Duncan felt cosseted within an inch of his life, and was surprised to discover that he was enjoying it. 

When he awoke twenty minutes later, prune-fingered and relaxed, he redonned his Cows shirt and jeans and sauntered down to tea. He was introduced to the other three guests, middle-aged, jolly women who seemed to be old friends traveling together, and met the younger Ms MacInnis. Duncan had already been meaningly informed that this daughter had no romantic entanglements, and to his pleasure, Kathleen was a tall, attractive woman with thick, chestnut hair, and her mother's blue eyes and direct manner. 

'So mum dragooned you off the ferry, did she?' 

'Oh, I wouldn't say that, exactly,' demurred Duncan, casting her a clearly flirtatious look over his teacup. 

'I would,' said the younger innkeeper, winking as she refilled his cup, 'but I'm glad she did. She's been retired for a decade, but a policewoman is used to being forceful, you know. I've found it best just to go along. Duncan, do you golf?' 

Better and better, Duncan reflected later as he and the five women sat companionably in the lavender twilight and watched the stars appear. Let Methos have Bora Bora; he'd take Prince Edward Island. 

Ysanne 

Notes: Can you tell I've just returned from Nova Scotia? :) And yes, Cows ice cream is FABulous. 

* * *

**When Universes Collide  
by sinclair**

The restaurant - well, bistro - was small, intimate and very, very, French. 

Which was just as it should be, thought Mary Sue with a wry smile. After all, it WAS Paris. 

Just thinking the word, made her head spin. That little thought turned the smile flitting over her luscious soft rose lips into a frown. 

Well my girl, it had better stop spinning and fast or it's liable to come off. 

This was the new way things worked, as she had learned to her horror just, she glanced at her watch and calculated, 64 hours, 13 minutes and - oh, what did seconds matter when you had forever. 

Three days ago she had been in the middle of an ordinary night shift, the last before her time off. A typical Wednesday night, a few drunks, some too boisterous kids, the usual round of donut shops, bad jokes from her partner Tom and driving around the quiet streets of Mayberry. What crime there was, was petty, even accidents and fires few and far between. 

Consequently, when the call had come in of a suspected B&E at Atkinson's Dry Cleaning, she and Tom had taken the call, half expecting to find Jimmy Gray up to his old tricks. 

Tom had taken the front door and she, the back. He had learned long ago not to try any of that male chauvinist chivalry stuff on her. 

The alley way was deserted. Mary Sue approached cautiously, her years of police training making her automatically take stock of everything, as she made her way towards the black cavern that was the back entrance of Atkinson's. Someone had definitely entered. But had they exited? 

Some sixth sense alerted her to some flicker of movement in the dark gap between two garages that stood on the other side of the lane that ran behind the Main St. 

The hairs on the back of her long slender neck stood on end as she automatically pivoted and started to drawn her gun at the same time. That strange, removed part of her brain, which noted such things, noted that it was the first time she had drawn her gun on duty. It was not a reassuring thought. 

Especially because as she turned, she realized a millisecond too late that something - someone was - what? - coalescing, materializing, ceasing being one, with the wall on her right. 

It could only have been a matter of seconds, but time seemed endless to Mary Sue, as the thing from the wall locked a very strong, very masculine arm around her neck and pulled her back against an equally firm masculine chest. 

There was another flicker from the gap and a man stepped out of the shadows. 

Lean, 5'11' to 6' tall, 150 to 155 pounds, Caucasian, wearing a loose sweater and baggy khakis, worn hiking boots. Eyes and hair hard to tell in the dim light but at a guess, light and mid brown, cut short. And that nose. That, she'd certainly remember. That and the sword in his hand. 

There was an ominous click and she recalled the arm around her neck, the man who had come out of the wall and her half unholstered gun. 

It was now pressed against her temple. 

'Another move and I'll off the cop.' 

Mary Sue had an endless moment of terror as she realized that the guy with the sword hadn't slowed an iota. She had one clear look into his eyes, cold as Death, then the world exploded and went dark. 

Mary Sue shook herself at the memory, her long chestnut hair a silky veil around her shoulders. 

Time to forget about all that. About waking up in the morgue staring into the gorgeous coffee green eyes of the man opposite. About being told the unbelievable truth of the reality of her new life. Good bye to the past, hello to the future, long may it last. 

The alternative was unthinkable. 

Now she had a decision to make. She needed a teacher apparently. 

Both Duncan and Adam had offered to take her on. 

Duncan was the obvious choice. A four hundred something year old warrior. By day mild mannered antiques dealer. By night - no, better not go there, she thought as she watched the very French waitress (Did they really wear French maid's costumes in France?) put a teeny dish of cr'me glace in front of him. Funny, but the twin globes of ice cream looked exactly like miniature copies of the woman's - Mary Sue blinked. 

They were vibrating. She was sure of it. Despite all that French insouciance that the waitress just exuded, the mere presence of Duncan MacLeod had reduced her to a quivering mass of voluptuous flesh. 

But when the French maid put down Mary Sue's coffee, her hand was as steady as a rock. 

Good grief! It was only her bo- bosom that seemed to be reacting to Duncan's dark good looks. 

Well, he's certainly enough to make your heart go pit a pat, but she'd never seen THAT, she thought. 

As the waitress disappeared behind a bank of potted palms that shielded their table Mary Sue spoke to the bemused man sitting opposite. 

'I suppose you get to know everyone after 400 years.' 

Duncan blinked and focused on the beautiful woman across from him. 

'No, why do you say that?' 

'Well, that waitress. She called you by name. M'sieur Lod-something. What's that? One of your AKAs?' 

'Did she? I hadn't noticed. Never seen her before in my life.' 

Mary Sue snorted and had to grab her napkin. 

''I know! You couldn't take your eyes off her -' 

Just then she felt that strange inner/outer vibration that told her another immortal was near. She looked at Duncan in consternation. 

'Don't worry', he assured her. 'It's just Me- old friend Adam.' 

'Adam!' she was relieved. 'You mean you can tell just from the buzz who it is?' 

Duncan laughed. 

'No I can see the door from that mirror.' 

Belatedly, she realized that for all their privacy, Duncan had positioned them so that he could observe, directly or indirectly, the entire bistro. Point in his favor. 

Adam slid onto the seat beside her. He slouched, half hidden by palm fronds. 

He smiled at Mary Sue. His eyes positively twinkled and he had little spikes of eyelashes that tilted up in such a way it did something strange to her insides. Point in his favor. 

'I didn't think term was finished yet?' There was an underlying hint of censure in Duncan's voice that Mary Sue caught. Adam Pierson was an assistant professor of history at Mayberry College. She wondered if Adam had been one of Duncan's former students. 

'Thought it was more important that I be here,' Adam said, 'Told them my Grandmother died. Always a good excuse.' 

Duncan snorted. 

'Now I am entirely free, ready, willing and able to start your education,' he said to Mary Sue. Those darn twinkles again. 

'Just a minute, Me- old pal, Mary Sue hasn't decided on which one of us she wants.' 

'She could have us both.' 

Mary Sue choked on her coffee. 

She looked up to see Adam watching her in a very particular way. No, she hadn't imagined the inflection in his voice. 

'A teacher student relationship is very close,' he said to her. 'Intimate. You are vulnerable to one another. You must trust with your life. There isn't a deeper connection you can have with another human being.' 

Mary Sue felt herself being drawn in, melting, mesmerized by his lilting accent. 

'If it's so intimate, why would she want both of us?' Duncan enquired caustically breaking the spell. 

Adam gave Duncan a look. Mary Sue had pegged him for about 50 in real years, a product of the sixties, but that look made her question her conclusions. 

'I forget, MacLeod, that you are a product of a much more repressive age.' 

Mary Sue opened her mouth to change the subject. 

'Ah! M'sieur L'Odnamp! Why 'ave you not eat of ze cr'me glace delicieuse?' The voice was husky and ripe like a juicy peach. The little waitress had returned. 

Duncan had a goofy grin on his face as he picked up his spoon. 

Mary Sue checked out the woman's cleavage. The vibrations had gone up an order of magnitude or two on the Richter scale. 

Like a lion charging, Adam Pierson suddenly lunged forward and knocked the small bowl of ice cream into Duncan's lap. 

Duncan leaped up, his lap covered in a gooey creamy mess. 

'What did you do that for?' he exclaimed. 

Adam stood and looked around, muttering. Mary Sue realized that the little waitress had vanished. 

'I'll pay for the dry cleaning.' 

'And we'll take you up on your suggestion and order a bottle of Merlot. Your treat too.' Duncan rubbed the napkin across his hard thighs getting rid of most of the mess. 

'What? I didn't mean a bottle of Merlot.' Taking in the glare in Duncan's eye, Methos thought the better of explaining himself. The little witch had disappeared anyway. No telling where she was. 

Catching a passing waiter's eye, he said, 'Trois Stella Artois.' A feat in itself. 

He looked back at Mac who was finishing his clean up. 

'Just don't forget to remove your wallet, when you drop them off. It can be a real bitch getting it back from the dry cleaner.' 

* * *

Home 


End file.
